


Billy the Wonder Dog or, How Jupiter Jones Finally Came to Terms With Being Baby Fatso

by vanillafluffy



Category: Criminal Minds, The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors
Genre: Child Star, Cosplay, Dog Ownership, Dogs, Has Been, M/M, Mentions of Cancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jupe has spent 20+ years trying to live down his career as a child actor. Now, at a Con, he may have  found a way to live with it. Spence is happy to hear it...can he get out of this leather outfit now?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Billy the Wonder Dog or, How Jupiter Jones Finally Came to Terms With Being Baby Fatso

It's a quiet Saturday evening at the Reid-Jones residence. They’re lounging on the couch watching a movie—Edward Scissorhands is the feature presentation—which Spence has seen just once, as a child. It has more impact now. 

He’s swallowing a lump in his throat about Edward, the perpetual outsider, when Jupe presses the ‘pause’ button on the remote, freezing on a full-length shot of Edward.

“That would be a really hot look for you,” Jupe says, pointing at the screen. Sometimes, it’s still hard for Spence to tell when his husband is being serious.

“What are you talking about?”

“Seriously, you could pull that off. I’d love to see you wrapped in leather. A little demi-permanent black dye in your hair, some gel….” He grins. “And the make-up effects would be interesting to do.”

“What, for Halloween?”

“I was thinking about us going to DragonCon.”

“You’re out of your mind. Me? Wear that? In public?”

“You’re tall and slender, you’ve got killer bone structure, naturally goofy hair—you’d be sensational.”

He’d rather shoot himself in the foot than attract that much attention. “No way.”

“Please, Spence?” Jupe gives him the Look,, all wide Bambi-brown eyes and quivering lower lip. “For me?”

Garcia has shown him Quiz Kids, and he knows Jupe had that expression mastered by the time he lost his baby teeth. An idea occurs to him, a downright wicked idea, that ought to nip Jupe’s ridiculous scheme in the bud.

“Okay, I’ll do it…under one condition—“

 

***OOO***OOO***

 

“How did I let you talk me into this?” Jupe wants to know.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” Spence says gloomily, surveying his reflection in their suite’s mirror.

The costume Jupe has painstakingly put together for him is skin-tight black leather, wrapped around with straps and buckles, and the boots feel like they weigh about ten pounds apiece. His “hands” are gloves fitted with silver-painted slats from old window blinds—plastic, but Spence is still worried about accidentally enucleating someone.

Spence’s light brown hair has been temporarily dyed black, although he’s not pleased to know that “temporary” will probably be at least three weeks, and it’s stiff with whatever product Jupe has added to tease it into a wild corona.

His face is chalk-white, and criss-crossed by ‘scars’ Jupe has fashioned from tinted latex. He’s wearing lipstick and mascara, and while he can see the result is a first class Scissorhands knock-off, he’s queasy about wearing it all in public. Not just in public, he thinks, swallowing with trepidation. In the midst of several thousand strangers of questionable mental stability.

Jupe, by contrast, is wearing what most people would consider normal clothes. He has on denim overalls, a horizontally-striped red and white shirt and the bib pocket of the overalls has several lollipops sticking out of it. He’s wearing red sneakers, and an engineer’s cap, red with white polka dots is perched on his dark curls.

His expression is no happier than Spence’s. He grimaces, picking up a slingshot from the dresser and arranging it in his back pocket. “I never thought I’d see Baby Fatso in the mirror again.”

He’s always been ambivalent about his role as the youngest member of a group of young adventurers. The series had come and gone more than twenty years ago—Spence is fairly sure that Baby Fatso, especially without the other five kids and the dog, isn’t going to be stopping people in their tracks.

“Never say never. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

 

***OOO***OOO***

 

If this isn’t Hell, you can see it from here, Spence thinks four hours later. He hasn’t actually been trampled to death—obviously!—but for someone who’s an introvert by nature, this many people wanting to get into his personal space to ask questions and demand photos on the convention floor is nerve-wracking.

He’s prepared for the event by watching the film again and memorizing a plethora of trivia about it, about the cast, particularly Johnny Depp and Vincent Price, and about Tim Burton’s work in general. That kind on minutiae is easy for him. He can rattle off assorted random facts, which is easier than making conversation, but this bunch has an unfortunate tendency to listen, wide-eyed, and want more.

So far, he’s been approached by sixty-seven fans, which has resulted in thirty-four photos with strangers and nineteen more without—and that doesn’t include random, unauthorized shots that he’s sure have also been snapped. He’s also been intimately groped five times, and not by Jupe.

As he surmised, Edward is a lot better known—or at least more popular—than Baby Fatso. Jupe’s been approached by a scant handful of people; they’re invariably their age or a little older and remember the Quiz Kids when it originally aired. They’re at the con with their offspring, and wax nostalgic about the show, but not franticly so.

Jupiter is jovial. He’s an extrovert; even if he has issues about playing Baby Fatso, he’s skilled at getting people to chat about their favorite memories of the series without sharing his private thoughts. 

He smiles and repeats his old catchphrase, “Let’s talk lollipops!”, Baby Fatso’s standard bribe for being persuaded to do anything he didn’t want to do. He poses for only one picture, brandishing a lollipop from his pocket and looking bashful.

Right, Spence thinks as he extricates himself from his thirty-fifth photo op. Bashful. That’ll be the day.

“Let’s talk lollipops,” he says to Jupe, who’s appraising a vintage Lost in Space lunch-box with professional discernment. “I’m ready to go. I’m roasting in this outfit, and if I get propositioned by one more Goth princess, I’m going to attempt seppuku with my scissor-hands.”

“Good luck with that,” Jupe says, setting the lunch-box carefully back on the vendor’s table. “But now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind a cold drink and some lunch. Let’s go.”

God forbid there’s a ‘next time’, but if there is, Spence is going to wear his normal clothes with a pocket protector and a pair of taped glasses. One thing he knows from experience is, geeks are usually ignored.

 

***OOO***OOO***

 

They’re crossing the lobby when a petite, forty-ish woman turns around without looking and runs squarely into Jupe. She sports what Spence thinks of as the suburban mom look, jeans and sweatshirt and a purse only slightly smaller than one of his go-bags. It could hold an unabridged dictionary and a thesaurus, with room for five pounds of cosmetics and a change of clothes.. 

The woman bounces back like she’s hit a wall, and Jupe reaches out a hand to steady her. A look of recognition crosses her face, and she gasps, “You’re Baby Fatso!”

“Let’s talk lollipops!” he replies automatically. “Are you okay?”

She’s staring fixedly at him. “You’re really him! You’re Jupiter Jones!”

He hasn’t monitored every contact Jupe’s had, because he’s been occupied by Scissorhands fangirls, but Spence is pretty sure no one else has addressed Jupe as anything but “Baby Fatso”. This woman is either a Quiz Kids fan of a higher magnitude, or she’s got a very good memory.

“Yes, ma’am.” There’s a faint note of resignation in Jupe’s voice, and Spence manages not to roll his eyes. He’s spent the morning being molested and making inane conversation with people who’ve creeped him out by their intensity—Jupe’s not going to get away with shrugging off one lone soccer mom.

“I’m Wanda Raye Hubbard, I’m so thrilled to meet you!” She seizes Jupe’s hand and pumps it with enthusiasm. “I used to love your show, it always looked like everyone was having so much fun!”

“On camera and off,” Jupe agrees mendaciously, nodding. 

“I always wondered why you left the show,” she says, “Then when I was older, I found out—I’m so sorry about your parents. That must have been terrible for you.”

Spence winces. One thing he hadn’t planned on when he’d talked Jupe into this was exhuming this particular trauma.

“Thank you, Wanda Raye.” Jupe is solemn, “My guardians weren’t ready to cope with the demands of a child with a career of his own. I know my leaving hurt the show.”

“Nothing you could do about that, though, was there, honey?” She’s sympathetic. “All you can do sometimes is keep going.”

“Very true.” Jupe takes a deep breath and steers the conversation into neutral waters. “Tell me, Wanda Raye, what was your favorite thing about Quiz Kids?”

“I just loved Amanda Ellis—her character Jenny, I mean. Jenny was so athletic, and never scared of anything, and in those days, I—“ She stops, looking thoughtful, then reaches into her mammoth shoulder bag.

Spence is ready for her to pull out a camera—he’s reasonably sure she’s not armed or dangerous—but what she comes up with is a business card.

“I have to be back here at six to pick up my son, but I’d be delighted if you’d come out to our house and join me for lunch.” Wanda Raye holds out the card, looking hopeful. “It’s not that far, maybe twenty minutes, and I’d really love to sit and talk for a while.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Spence interjects, and plucks the card from her fingers. “We were just getting ready to go get something to eat.”

She looks at him for the first time and blinks. “That’s an amazing costume,” she says politely. “Are you an actor, too?”

“No, ma’am. I have a government job.”

“Wanda Raye, please. My phone number is on the card in case you get lost and need directions, and I’m so looking forward to chatting with you!”

 

***OOO***OOO***

 

Jupe has programmed Wanda Raye’s address into his van’s GPS, and they’re navigating one of the major highways through Atlanta. 

“There’s a saying, you may have heard it, that there’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

“We could call her and cancel,” Spence says, “but for what it’s worth, she seems a lot more normal than most of my fans.”

“Can’t argue with you there. I have a feeling, though, that she’s going to expect me to know everything about everyone on the show, and I have no idea. I haven’t kept in touch with any of them.” Jupe sighs. “Hell, she probably knows more about them than I do.”

There’s a website listed on the card, and Spence types it into his tablet while Jupe drives. Apparently, Wanda Raye has a modest, home-based business. He looks closely at one of the pictures, and fights back a grin, because he has a feeling he knows why Wanda Raye really wants them to visit.

To be on the safe side, he rings Garcia. “We’re headed to lunch at the home of Wanda Raye Hubbard,” he tells her, and reads off the address. “Any history we should know about?”

“Forty-three, married twenty-one years, mom of three, ages 20, 18 and 14. Husband is a mid-level exec at Coca-Cola, nothing weird or stalker-y. It looks like she—aww!” She squeals like she’s just seen something outstandingly cute.

“You found the website,” Spence guesses, grinning. “Jupe hasn’t seen it yet.”

“Get pictures!” Garcia orders him before she hangs up. “Get lots of pictures!”

“What haven’t I seen?” Jupe wants to know. “Let me guess, she’s got some site that’s all about Quiz Kids, with episode recaps and bios and ‘What Quiz Kid would you be?’, fifty gigs of trivia and a screen cap of me in bloomers at the old swimming hole?”

“None of the above—but I can definitely see the Quiz Kids influence.”

Jupe gives him a side-long look, and Spence endeavors to look innocent. This is going to be fun.

 

***OOO***OOO***

 

The neighborhood Wanda Raye calls home hasn’t sprung up during a recent boom. It’s been there for a long time; tall trees shade the street and the homes are set on spacious lots with big yards.

As they turn into the driveway, they pass a mailbox bearing a plaque with the house number on it, and an oval sign proclaiming “Honeydew Kennels”.

“Good-looking house,” Jupe remarks, surveying the two-storey pseudo-Colonial as he pulls up behind a late model sedan. “New car. The yard is kept up. She’s just a nice lady who wants to give us lunch and pump me about my glamorous childhood. Nothing sinister, right, Spence?”

“Garcia knows where we are,” Spence reminds him as they get out of the van and walk up the path to the front door. “Which, come to think of it, was the arrangement I had with her the first time I had dinner with you. That didn’t turn out so badly, did it?”

“Point,” Jupe admits as he presses the doorbell. 

A canine chorus begins inside the house, but is quieted before a smiling Wanda Raye opens the door. “There you are!” she exclaims, ushering them in. “Don’t mind the dogs, they’re total pushovers!” 

“Bull terriers!” Jupe identifies the canines as a quintet comes sniffing up to them. “They’re great dogs, we had one on the show—of course, you remember Billy the Wonder Dog,” he says to Wanda Raye, and Spence notes that he already looks more relaxed. “Hi, guys….” 

The bull terriers are sturdy-looking dogs with egg-shaped faces and smooth coats. Spence is momentarily worried that he’s going to be regarded as a leather-wrapped chew toy, but it’s clear the Honeydew dogs are well-behaved. All five tails are wagging enthusiastically.

Jupe has five new friends. With five dogs, but only two hands, he’s busy taking turns offering pats and scratches.

“I saw the website,” Spence says quietly to Wanda Raye while Jupe laughs at the greeting he’s getting.

Wanda Raye has a dimple when she smiles. “Let’s head back to the kitchen,” she suggests with a little wink to Spence. “I’ve got some ham sandwiches and potato salad, I hope that’s alright?”

“That sounds good,” Jupe agrees, and Spence adds, “Yes, thank you, Wanda Raye.”

She leads the way toward the other side of the house, bidding the dogs to “Go, lie down!”, which they do. The blue-and-white kitchen has a breakfast nook with a bank of windows looking out at a garden cheerful with flowers and a gazebo. 

“Here we are!” sings Wanda Raye, and her voice sparks a flurry of activity in the adjoining family room. 

There’s a scrabble of claws on tile, little grunting sounds, and a puppy gallops into the room. He barks a shrill “woof!” at the sight of them.

“Oh my God,” exclaims Jupe, astonished. “It’s Billy the Wonder Dog!”

 

***OOO***OOO***

 

In all the time they’ve been together, Spence has seen Jupe satisfied, pleased, happy and even elated, but this is the first time he’s ever seen such pure joy on his husband’s face.

Wanda Raye seems amused; she’s setting the kitchen’s banquette table with lunch and glancing over at Jupe, smiling from time to time. 

Jupe has dropped to the floor, looking like a gleeful six-year old on Christmas morning. He’s rough-housing with the puppy, who isn’t intimidated by this big stranger in the slightest, grinning as the pint-sized terrier jumps for the cap sticking out of his overalls pocket. 

Spence is seeing a side of his partner he’s only guessed at. Jupe’s always been ambivalent about his Quiz Kids days; he’s spoken wistfully about how traumatic it was to leave the show, but at the same time, he’s resented the teasing he took about being Baby Fatso. Here, he’s definitely in touch with a happier aspect of those memories.

When Jupe settles the puppy on the banquette bench between himself and Spence, Wanda Raye takes no notice. She doesn’t say anything when Jupe sneaks morsels of ham to him, though she draws the line at potato salad—“No mayonnaise on the upholstery, please!”

Conversation mines differences between DC and Atlanta, shifts to various home repair and DIY projects. Although Jupe is a passionate DIY’er, his attention is more on the puppy than the topic of bathroom remodeling. Wanda Raye’s husband is handy, she brags. He helped her build her kennels when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to stop with one or two dogs. 

When she mentions her first bull terrier’s name was Agamemnon, Jupe’s head comes up. “Agamemnon?”

“Oh, not the Agamemnon,” she says, looking self-conscious. “But I thought it was such a wonderful name, I had to use it.”

“Agamemnon was the real name of the dog who played Billy on the show,” Jupe explains to Spence. “Rod—that is, Rod Waxman, his trainer—called him Aggy, but Agamemnon was how he was registered.”

Jupe looks from the look-alike puppy to Wanda Raye. “Quiz Kids was popular during its run, but there isn’t much of a fan following these days. Agamemnon, as opposed to Billy, wasn’t widely known. I’m really curious, Wanda Raye—how did you get to be such an enthusiast? Your maiden name wouldn’t be Waxman, would it?”

Wanda Raye pleats her blue gingham napkin between her fingers, biting her lip. “Quiz Kids saved my life,” she says after a moment. “I was nine when it came on, and I’d just been diagnosed with leukemia.”

“Oh,” says Jupe, appalled. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says with a light laugh, not looking directly at them. “It didn’t kill me, I’m here today—clearly. But I was very sick for a long time—and isolated a lot, because I couldn’t risk exposure to germs from other children. My folks got me my own VCR—this was back when they still cost upwards of $400 and tapes were $5 each. I taped all the episodes and watched them over and over.”

Jupe nods. Spence fights an urge to quote statistics about the odds of a recovery then and now. ‘Not appropriate’, Jupe would say.

“The Quiz Kids were my friends when I didn’t have friends. I wanted to ride my bike and climb fences like Jenny, or do ballet like Michelle. I wanted Frankie to teach me how to do a swan dive. I wanted to help foil a gang of counterfeiters and explore a ruined mansion for lost treasure or find old Mr. Jacobi’s stolen camera.” 

She gives them a rueful smile. “In real life, I was miserable and scared and weak, but when I was watching the ‘Kids, all that went away for a while. I was brave and strong and happy. I made up adventures where I lived on Mapleridge Avenue, too. We were all friends and we had such fun.” 

Wanda Raye is lost in memory; Jupe listens with total concentration. From the way he keeps swallowing, he seems to have a lump in his throat. Spence stays silent, not wanting to disturb their rapport.

“When I was taking chemo, which was absolutely not fun, I pretended that it was like the time Baby Fatso got his tonsils out, and the Quiz Kids were going to come in soon with a big bowl of butterscotch pudding. I weighed 58 pounds and I could hardly keep broth down, but oh, how dreaming about that pudding kept me going!”

Jupe’s brown eyes are suspiciously full. He takes a deep breath, about to respond to Wanda Raye’s moving tale, when Spence interrupts involuntarily. “Ow!”

The puppy, bored, has clamped his jaws into the leather encasing Spence’s forearm. He growls with excitement and shakes his head, trying to kill his prey.

“You little devil,” Jupe says, smiling, the moment of pathos dissolving in the aftermath of the puppy’s attack. He reaches out and sticks his fingers into the corner of the little dog’s mouth. 

The jaws unlock, and Spence draws his arm away.

Wanda Raye is aghast. “Oh my goodness, are you alright? Did he break the skin?”

“I’m okay,” Spence says reflexively. He examines his sleeve. “He snagged the leather a little, is all.”

His husband winces. Spence doesn’t know how much Jupe invested in the costume, but it’s probably well into three figures.

“You need to learn some manners, mister,” Jupe says to the pup now cradled in his arms.

“He certainly does,” Wanda Raye agrees. “And I think you should be the one to teach him. I want you to have him.”

“But—but—“ Jupe isn’t expecting this. “Don’t you want him for yourself? He really does look just like Billy.”

“I know. But as adorable as he is, I already have two males, which is really one more than I need for a hobby-business.” Wanda Raye smiles. “I’ve more than covered the expenses of Billy’s litter from the sale of the other puppies. I can afford to give this little guy to someone who appreciates him.” She looks at Spence. “Tell me those two don’t belong together.”

Billy the Second gnaws on one of Jupe’s callused fingers, and Spence grins. After all, he thinks with Machiavellian logic, puppies chew things. If he can arrange to leave the closet door open at the right time, he need never worry about dressing as Edward Scissorhands again.

Wanda Raye volunteers to keep the puppy overnight, and to drop him off when she brings her son to the Con Sunday morning. 

When they take leave of Honeydew Kennels and return to the Con, Jupe seems reinvigorated. He’s beaming at everyone on the convention floor, and maybe it’s his heightened energy level, but he’s being recognized by more convention-goers than he was earlier.

Spence makes it through another couple hours of the crowds before persuading Jupe back upstairs to their room. He wants to get out of the leather bodysuit, remove the greasepaint and take a shower. And, although he’s usually not much for alcohol, a screwdriver sounds wonderful right about now—or maybe just a screw.

 

***OOO***OOO***

 

“I guess I know who I’ll be going as for Halloween,” Jupe remarks. He’s still in his Baby Fatso regalia from day two of the Con, although Spence flatly refused to dress as Edward again.

They’re headed north on US Highway 1, with an overnight stop scheduled in Wilmington, NC. The backseat of the van is occupied by a crate Wanda Raye has donated for Billy, plus a plethora of puppy paraphernalia.

“Really? After I had to twist your arm to get you to go to the Con as Baby Fatso?” Spence is driving this time, since Jupe keeps turning to look back at their passenger.

“Not to exploit him or anything, but Billy’s the perfect accessory. I know how smart Aggy was; I’m sure I can teach him some tricks, he’ll be great.” Jupe snags the tablet from between the seats and begins tapping at it. 

“Now what?” Spence asks.

“I need to see how much Cesar Millan is available on e-book,” Jupe says, peering at the display. “I want to get started teaching him manners---and tricks---as soon as possible. I would’ve done it last night, but you…distracted me. I want to make sure I go about it the right way—I’ve never had a dog before.”

“Not even a junkyard dog?” Spence teases mildly.

“No,” Jupe begins, and Spence chimes in with him, “Aunt Matilda didn’t like dogs.”

Although Spence never met Jupe’s late aunt, he’s heard enough about her over the years to conclude she was the reason.

“I’ll order the show, too,” Jupe says, scrolling down. “We should both watch it. It won’t do any good for me to train him if you’re going to spoil him.”

“Me, spoil him? Who kept sneaking him ham?”

“That was before he was my dog,” Jupe says in all seriousness.

Spence guffaws. “That’s what you think. He was your dog from the moment you laid eyes on him.”

Jupe’s dimples are showing. “Be that as it may,” he replies with dignity, “I don’t want either of us to inadvertently fall prey to the Lassie Syndrome.”

“I’ll bite,” Spence puns innocently, “I’ve know about Stockholm Syndrome, but never heard of Lassie Syndrome. What is it?”

“That’s what Rod used to call it when people treated their dogs like Lassie—you know, talking to them in complete sentences and asking questions and basically expecting the dog to react like a person would. It was his biggest peeve, and I don’t mean a pet one! ‘Dogs aren’t people’, he used to say, ‘and I’ve never seen a problem dog whose problem wasn’t people being fools’. We’re not fools, and Billy isn’t going to be a problem dog.”

“Billy the Second, Wonder Dog of the World?”

They’re both smiling, and Jupe is busy with the tablet. A few miles pass, then Jupe says, “Thank you, Spence.”

“Sure. He’ll be good company for you when I’m out of town.”

“No, I mean twisting my arm. I think I needed to meet Wanda Raye, and not just for Billy. If Quiz Kids did nothing else, what it did for her was worth all the teasing I went through in school for playing Baby Fatso. I just didn’t know it at the time.”

“Well, you know what they say---hindsight is—“ Spence nods toward the crate in which Billy slumbers. “His mother.”

 

***OOO***OOO***

 

The Blue Waves Motel has the look of a classic ‘50s motor court, with a crescent of individual units curving around a parking lot with an island of landscaping in the middle. They have reservations for an overnight stay, made before the acquisition of Billy the Second. Spence hopes the pup’s presence won’t be a problem.

Jupe had discovered the Blue Waves in a gay travel guide. Spence was surprised on two counts: First, that there was such a thing as a gay travel guide, and second, that Jupe would have used it. Even after years of marriage, Spence simply thinks of them as a couple; their sex life is only a part of their marriage, why should it be the defining adjective? 

Booking the reservation, Jupe said if they were going to spend money to stay somewhere, he’d rather it was a place that wouldn’t fuss about two men together. This keeps it in the family, so it speak. 

The stylized blue wave motif adorning the white buildings reminds Spence of a Greek key, the symbol etched on their wedding bands. “You picked this place for the wave design, didn’t you?” Spence surmises as he turns off the van’s engine.

“There are pictures of the rooms on their website,” Jupe says, dodging the question. “It looked comfortable.” He sighs happily. “And listen, you can hear the waves—“ 

“Let’s just hope they’re pet-friendly,” Spence says practically.

“Oh, right.” Jupe looks startled by the reminder. “I’d better wake up the sleeping prince and walk him around a little. Hell of an impression we’d made if he walked in and pee’ed on the carpet.”

Spence checks his e-mail as Jupe wanders around the center island, letting the little dog take care of business, cleaning up behind him. Garcia has responded to the pictures he’s posted of their Atlanta adventures. Her reaction to the reboot of Baby Fatso and Billy is a gif of fireworks that explodes on the surface of the tablet when he opens her note. Wait til she sees the real thing….

There’s no one in the lobby when they enter. There is, however, a prominently displayed sign: No parties. No children. No pets. No pet children.

“I think we’re going to have to make other arrangements,” Spence says in an undertone. “Hello!” he calls.

A man emerges from a room to one side of the check-in desk labeled “Manager”. He’s in his forties, sleek and clean-shaven. dark-haired, and from the neck down, he could be Spence’s twin in a blue polo shirt, khakis and loafers.

“Reid-Jones, we have a reservation,” Spence says. If they’re going to be turned away, they may as well get it over with and get back on the road. If they push it, they can make DC tonight, and at least he has the day off tomorrow to recuperate.

“Oh my god!” says the dark-haired man, staring at Jupe with delight. “Baby Fatso! We’ve been watching Quiz Kids on Netflix, we just saw the county fair episode last night. What a terrific costume!”

“Thank you,” Jupe replies with a half-bow. “And of course, Billy the Wonder Dog.”

The motel manager takes a step closer, looks over the counter and down at the pup prancing beside Jupe. 

“Oh my god!” he exclaims again, but this time he’s even more elated. He toggles something behind the desk and says, “Virgil, come here, quick—you’ve got to see this!”

A disembodied voice responds, “I’m trying to fix this damn dryer, Evan—what do you want?”

“It’s Baby Fatso and Billy the Wonder Dog!”

“What about them?” Virgil asks, voice gruff.

Billy yips at the raised voices, and somewhere near the back of the building, a door hinge squeals and booted footsteps come their way.

The man who joins them is a complete contrast to his partner. He's fiftyish, and where Evan is carefully groomed, Virgil is bearded and casual in a plaid flannel shirt and well-worn jeans. The scowl on his face vanishes at the sight of Jupe and his pint-sized accessory.

“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” he blurts, grinning. He looks them over for a moment before making his pronouncement. “You’re not bad,,” he says to Jupe, “but the dog’s really a ringer.”

“I’m the real thing,” Jupe tells him. “Billy the Second is an understudy. But he does look like the original, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t believe it!” Evan has been busy during Virgil’s scrutiny. He’s staring at the display on his smartphone. “You really—! I just IMDb’ed it—Jupiter Jones—you really are Baby Fatso!”

“Back in the day, yes.” Jupe is working them with his wide-eyed expression. “But it’s gratifying to discover how many fans Baby Fatso still has.”

Virgil sets down the length of dryer hose he’s carried along and offers his hand. “Count us as two more. We thought you were too cute as the littlest clown in the circus! But tell me—there wasn’t really a lion, was there?”

Jupe is describing the camera trickery involved in the episode as Evan siddles over to Spence. “Nice work, Daddy,” he says.

Spence blushes to the roots of his temporarily-dyed hair. “We’re on our way home from DragonCon,” he feels obliged to explain. “I was costumed yesterday—“ He fumbles out his own phone ad shows the other man a picture of himself in the Scissorhands ensemble. 

“We’ve got to get pictures!” Evan enthuses, and for the next few minutes, the camera in his phone gets a workout as he snaps Jupe and Billy with and without Virgil and himself. Spence is even recruited to get group shots.

It’s an odd position to be in; dress-up has been a part of their sexual routine since well before they were married, but it’s been a very private part. And a Baby Fatso kink? God, no.

“We have reservations,” he says again once the photo session has concluded, "but we didn’t realize you have a ‘No pets’ policy.”

“We don’t usually...” Evan begins.

“What a coincidence,” Jupe says smoothly, picking up the dryer hose from the counter. “You usually don’t allow dogs, and I don’t usually repair appliances on my vacation….

“Let’s talk lollipops!”

***


End file.
